For those of you who know me, it's only fitting that I should start this fabulous new site with the first new Phan fic.

This book I call Through the Looking Glass has since been rewritten twice at the suggestion of my publisher. I had to change the title as well. When anyone reads my published novel, when it's published, you will see the resemblence.

The forgoing book has been registered with the Copyright Office in Washington, DC. All rights reserved.

Please R&R. Your comments are most welcomed. Enjoy!

****************************************************PROLOGUE

Mazenderan, Persia 1849

The shadows of twilight danced across the desert, stretching its fingers to the Mystic Pool of Mazenderan. A tall, hooded figure shrouded in a black robe glided into the gardens of Mitra, the Seer. It wore the hood pulled up around its face so that only the yellow glint of its eyes seemed visible. The Seer knelt by the pool, disturbing the water when the dark shape overshadowed her.

Mitra cast her lovely eyes upward to meet the glowing orbs. She gathered her robe around her and shivered as she offered the dark figure a seat by the pool, which it accepted.

“I know why you’ve come. You want to know your future,” she spoke with a delicate Persian accent. Looking back at the pool she continued to stir the water with her hand. When she stopped, the water swirled into a ghostly white mist reaching its tendrils out from the pool, which trapped it.

When the center of the mist dispersed the image of a young woman in her late teens appeared. She dressed in clothes far different from their time, jeans and a T-shirt. Her soft brown hair cut in layers gently framed her face, bringing out the sparkle in her dark flashing eyes. She laughed and talked to four other young people about her age, two males and two females.

“How very strange! I see two separate, yet intertwining destinies running parallel to each other. This woman, called Mae, will act as a major part of both sides of your future. She will give you what you desire, to be loved for who and what you are,” the Seer started to disturb the vision, but a skeletal hand stopped her. Its touch felt shockingly cold, sending chills through her beautiful shapely body, frightening her nearly to death.

“You want to see more of this woman?” The dark figure nodded its head, so Mitra continued. “She comes from another time and space. She lives in our future, yet knows you and everything about you.”

The vision in the pool showed Mae and her friends watching a movie, “The Phantom of the Opera” musical film. Even though they heard no sound, the movement depicted deep gothic romance.

“I’m not sure how, but this picture moves, telling your story.” A bony finger tapped the side of the pool. The Seer paused, trying to understand what it wanted. It tapped again and then pointed to the vision.

"Oh, you want to know how to meet her?” The tapping continued. “I cannot tell all things. Remember, you can change the future. Without her, your second destiny will become final; one of intense unrequited love, unfulfilled desire, hate, and certain death.” Mitra flinched at the icy, death-like touch of the skeletal hand.

“Do you want to see the second woman in your future?” The hooded head nodded. Mitra continued as she passed her hand over the pool. White vapors covered the vision and dispersed with a new one. A beautiful young woman in her late teens, with dark cascading curls stood on the stage of a grand theatre. With a curtsey and a smile she accepted the applause for some type of performance.

“They call her Christine. She becomes the death from which you cannot escape and she, too, is a major part of both futures, but she will never love you. Remember, you cannot change history,” Mitra shivered again. The shrouded figure appeared confused. What history could it not change?

Being in the presence of such a foreboding creature and having to tell it such horrible news made the Seer turn cold and knots of anxiety formed in her stomach. She wanted to jump up and flee into the night screaming, but the creature’s eyes gave her second thoughts. It could snap her in two with its bony hands as it had done so many others in the past.

The skeletal hand grabbed her arm. Its angry grip felt like a vice. The excruciating pain brought her to the ground screaming and begging for her life, reminding the monster she only prophesied what came from Allah.

After a moment or so to ponder this, it released her arm. She fell to the ground gasping from the damage caused to her now black and blue limb. Again a skeletal finger tapped on the edge of the pool.

Mitra rolled over, holding her damaged arm, gasping, and biting her lip, trying not to anger the creature anymore by screaming. The tapping continued until she passed a shaky hand over the pool.

Visions of both young women appeared. The one entwined in a lover’s embrace with the creature, whose form appeared dark and blurred, while the other, wept over a still dark blur lying prostrate by a fountain.

The golden orbs blazing within the hood resembled an artists’ concept of the Grim Reaper. Mitra buried her face into the ground, sobbing and pleading for her life, as she cradled her throbbing arm. No longer could she stand to look into its eyes. Her body trembled until she nearly had heart failure.

The dark figure arose, and melted into the night to contemplate its fate and the meaning of ‘you cannot change history’ and ‘you have two separate, yet intertwining destinies running parallel to each other.’

Hello, Fay! I know you! Thanks for telling me about this site by the way, it's wonderful!

I like this opening--very unique and gripping. The details were just enough for me to get a good mental image, but not bogging me down with TMI. (Too much information. ) There was only one sentence which jumped out at me. "It wore the hood pulled up around its face so that only the yellow glint of its eyes seemed visible." This sentence bothered me a little, just because you use the word: "it," three times. No big deal, but you miiight want to reword it a bit. Just a suggestion.

Ange de Musique so happy to see you here. Thank you for such kind words. So pleased you enjoyed.

Sorry that sentence troubled you. I did leave that part in the second rewrite and so far my publisher hasn't said anything about it. But thank you. I look for things like this in the future.

The entire book is complete. I will only be proofing and tweaking future chapters. Therefore, I should be posting at least one a week. This time, I'm going to wait a little longer to give others a chance to register and read.

I'm glad you said the prologue gave you enough of the plot setup and didn't bog you down. This is precisely the point I try to make to all who I've coached. The beginning of the story or book is most critical. It's very important that the reader know where you're going with the story in first prologue or in the first chapter.

OMG I wish that I could write like that. hey Laura! nice to see you here as well. well I hope you keep on writing! I love they story so far. I want to find the publish version soon! and outta context question. Laura do you think that my book is publishing material I doubt it! but at least I can ask! LOL. and question again, can you guys give me some tips about writing I must have them! any advise I'll love you guys forever!!!!!

Ah Slytherliggie thank you for the kind words. So happy you enjoyed. I will be posting soon. I just want to give everyone enough time to register and read.

I think you will see how different this story is. There will be two story lines which start out together, split and then comes together at the end. I had to omit this in my second rewrite. My publisher said it caused too much confusion.

“One of the most magnificent buildings in the world is the Paris Opera located at La Place de L’Opéra. It seats two thousand and has seventeen stories, taking up three acres of land. Seven of these are below ground, and two contained pieces of the famous lake depicted in Gaston Leroux’s famous story The Phantom of the Opera.

Unlike other buildings, the opera house has levels it inhabited underground. There we find chorus rooms, green rooms, ballrooms, set rooms, cellars for waste props, closets, dressing rooms, and many other kinds of rooms.

The underground levels used to contain all sorts of gruesome objects from various operas that have been produced. Their gruesome effect became evident in Leroux’s novel.”

Kimee paused in reading and looked up from the brochure. Something flickered in and around the shadows of the statues upon the roof. She rubbed her eyes a moment and did a double take, but it vanished.

“Go on,” Tommy playfully yanked on the brochure. Kimee continued, “The Phantom ofthe Opera, based on the opera house, portrayed a young singer, Christine Daae, and Erik, the disfigured genius known as the Phantom who inspired and trained her voice, only to become obsessively in love with her.”

Mae and her four friends stared up at the exquisite statues which adorned the roof of this majestic building, imagining they where up among all the splendor of the Baroque architecture.

Kimee squinted her blue eyes as she tried to shade them with her hands. The funny, floppy hat she wore and her thin frame made her look younger her eighteen years.

Twanda acted more mature then her eighteen years and donned shades as she stepped a little farther back, with her camera, trying to capture a shot of the figures upon the roof.

For an instant, the shadow appeared again and flickered in and among the statues. It seemed to remain on the dark side of the figures, but liked to pause now and again, as if watching her. Twanda looked up from the camera. Her light brown complexion showed a bit of shine from the perspiration caused from the sun’s heat.

“Did anybody see that shadow moving up on the roof?” Twanda squinted behind her dark glasses.

“I saw it. Could be a tour,” answered Mae, who looked up at the roof as well.

“Mmm, maybe,” Twanda tried to focus her lens. Mae wore her short brown hair in layers which met her shoulders and shone almost red in the light of day. At five feet tall, everything about her voluptuous figure indicated she possessed more maturity than most nineteen year olds. She stood with confidence in herself and her own decisions.

Tommy and Doone joked around and shoved each other playfully. Even though twenty-five year old Doone had dropped out of high school, Tommy and the others treated him like family. Doone wore his dark hair long and somewhat stringy. His thin, lanky, frame made him walk with stooped shoulders because of his taller than average height. The sun illuminated off his tie-dyed shirt and faded jeans.

Nineteen year old Tommy, who sometimes acted fourteen, also wore his straight black hair long, but not as stringy. He loved theatre and music just as much as Doone, but he would never give up an education or a job for them, as Doone had.

The two guys paused for a moment in their macho playfulness, as Doone eyed Mae lovingly. He wondered if she ever really saw him. In his eyes, no woman could ever look more beautiful than she. For a long time he wanted to tell her how he felt, but he knew having no job, and living with his father, presented nosecurity for a woman. Like most females, she’d want a home and money in the bank, neither of which he had to offer.

This trip to Paris became a dream come true for all except Twanda, who had visited the City of Lights on her sixteenth birthday. Their parents had agreed to allow them this little fling before college, only if they agreed to chaperones. Therefore, they hired Mrs. Betty Carlyle and Miss Linda Peters to escort them through France.

“Are we going up to the roof?” asked Mae, as she stepped back with Twanda, who struggled to take a clear picture.

“We’d better. This whole “Phantom of the Opera” thing has us all in a tizzy. I wanna know what it was like for Christine and Raoul on the roof,” Twanda finally snapped the picture.

Even though Leroux’s novel depicted the Phantom as this hideous, mad genius, stalking the young diva, Christine Daae, Mae had always pictured him as a mysterious, handsome 19th Century gentleman, with a dark past, and a slightly deformed face. But then, so did most of the girls her age and younger, since the stage version and the musical film made their appearance.

“I just wanna be the Phantom. Knowing all that magic and ventriloquism and with all that lurking in shadows and trapdoors. Way cool!” Doone barked in his Valley-boy accent, as he tried to imitate the way he thought the Phantom would twirl his cape.

“Doone, you are so lame. Do you want to live under the Opera House?” Twanda snapped.

“Why not? No rent, no neighbors, way cool! Then my dad wouldn’t be complaining that I’m good-for-nothing,” he half laughed, though deep inside, he screamed in pain.

Twanda and Kimee rolled their eyes. Mae motioned for them to follow her.

“Come on, I see Mrs. Carlyle and Miss Peters. They want us to go in,” Mae took off towards the entrance, and the others followed.

The Opera House had an amazing lobby and grand foyer. Exquisite sculptures and elaborate carvings decorated the handrail of the grand staircase ascending into the upper levels. Sconces reminiscent of the late 1800’s illuminated the ascension.

The huge columns and high ornate ceiling appeared like nothing they could have ever possibly imagined. A magnificent chandelier hung high in all its glory in the grand foyer with various scenes painted on the ceiling above it. Such scenes even included angels.

Unfortunately, they only conducted tours of the lobby and only during performances in the auditorium or theatre. With no performances at this hour, the five had to mill around in the lobby with their chaperones.

Just before leaving the gift shop, Twanda had to ask about the roof, since that seemed off limits as well.

“Excuse me,” began Twanda to the cashier. “We were told that there are only tours of the lobby and only during performances. But what about the roof? We saw someone on the roof a few minutes ago.”

The cashier, a mature woman, with her silver hair drawn up into a bun at the back of head, frowned a bit and replied with a French accent,“You are mistaken, mademoiselle. There would be no one on the roof today. Occasionally, we have special requests, but not today.”

Mae and Twanda exchanged puzzled looks. “But we saw someone moving up there and then looked down on us,” Mae added.

“You are mistaken. There was no one on the roof,” came the sharp reply as if to dismiss them. Seeing their questions went nowhere, the girls turned to join their group.

“I don’t get it,” mumbled Twanda, checking her digital camera. “I bet I got a picture of whoever was up there.” She flipped out the viewer.

“Do you think it was the Opera Ghost?” Mae teased, peering into the viewer with her.

“Shoot! Nothing!” cried Twanda in disgust as she slapped the viewer closed.

All of the dressing rooms and seats seemed to be off limits to tourists, especially Box Five the Phantom’s favorite balcony seat. The five friends just had to get inside. After all, what does off limits mean to a couple of guys like Tommy and Doone?

Someone had to keep the chaperones busy while the young men attempted to unlock Box Five. Twanda, and Kimee kept firing questions at Miss Peters and Mrs. Carlyle about the paintings some distance away, while Mae and Tommy watched Doone put his skills to use picking the lock. They had to be quick and quiet. They didn’t want the embarrassment of getting caught.

Finally, after fumbling for a few minutes, the lock clicked and the door opened. Rich crimson velvet walls caught their eyes first and then clothes hooks, which hung in a line on the wall to their right as they entered the tiny entry room. Asmall lamp mounted on the wall lit the way.

Four seats lay before them just passed the red velvet curtain that couldbe closed to separate the seats from the tiny entry room.

They only spoke in whispers, but mainly gestured to keep from being discovered. Doone immediately went to the column behind the seat to his left. He felt a strange feeling like he’d been there before, déjà vu? When his hands touched the pillar, he seemed to remember a counterweight existing on the other side, and when engaged it would open the pillar, allowing entrance into the box through the hollow column.

Mae and Tommy tried out the seats and pretended to be Christine Daae and Raoul de Chagny, the two sweethearts from Leroux’s novel. Doone acted like the Phantom, using comical scary hand gestures.

But a solemn moment occurred during their pretense when something strange possessed them. Mae rose from the seat, as if in a trance and locked eyes with Doone. Suddenly, he became very serious, drawing himself up to his full height. Upon extending his hand, she walked to him and accepted it, the way Christineresponded to the Phantom when his song summoned her through the looking glass.

When their hands touched, he drew her to him and leaned down to taste her lips. She, in turn, stretched upward to meet his. The sweet scent of sandalwood swirled in the air.

Tommy, puzzled at his friends’ weird behavior, as he jumped up and separated the two before their lips met. The spell broke. The scent of sandalwood vanished. They couldn’t imagine what had come over them.

The three decided they had found nothing even remotely different about the box, but it thrilled them to see the Phantom’s favorite seats. They tried to dismiss the kiss that nearly happened, by leaving quickly, and heading for the exit.

As the door closed behind them, a flickering shape with blazing orbs hovered in the shadows. In a moment, a quiet rustle stirred near the hollow column, behind the same seat that attracted Doone.

As Mae, Tommy and Doone emerged from the box; they quietly closed the door and hurried so Twanda and Kimee could take their turn.

Mae took up the chore of dishing out twenty questions about everything to the chaperones. Tommy and Doone swayed back and forth constantly to block their view, as Twanda and Kimee crept upstairs and entered Box Five.

Pretty soon the girls returned to the group.

“Now that was lame!” exclaimed Kimee as they followed the chaperones around the lobby.

“It was the Phantom’s seat. I liked it.” Everybody turned and glared at Tommy.

Once again, curiosity got the better of the five, and someone had to keep Peters and Carlyle busy while the others sought out the dressing room of Christine Daae, where her Angel of Music allegedly led her through the mirror.

This time, Doone and Tommy stayed with Kimee to occupy the chaperones, while Mae and Twanda sneaked up the gorgeous, spacious stairs.

On the first level, they found all the dressing rooms and storage rooms sealed. Not skilled in picking locks like Doone, the girls had no way of getting inside or even guessing which one had belonged to Christine.

They wandered aimlessly in the corridor for a few minutes, but afraid of being gone too long, they decided to return to the lobby. Mae stopped short when she heard singing.

“Do you hear that?” she asked. Twanda froze in her tracks to listen. The singing stopped.

“Don’t hear anything. Let’s go,” Twanda started for the lobby, but Mae couldn’t move. She heard it again; the beautiful golden tones of a male tenor wrapped themselves around her and pulled her on.

As if in a trance, Mae moved to the door a little ways down. Twanda called to her in whispers, but Mae didn’t respond and proceeded to turn the door handle.

Surprisingly enough, the door, now unlocked, swung open. A dim wall lamp in the back of the room provided the only light. A few, scattered stuffed chairs filled the room, as well as a table near the door. Before her, deep inside the chamber, stood a beautiful full-length mirror, with a gilded frame and gold leafing, beckoning. Twanda moved inside with her.

“Was this the same room Christine used when the Phantom came for her?” Twanda wondered aloud.

Mae didn’t answer.

The mirror beckoned. Carefully she examined it, running her fingertips along the sides and bottom, but her height prevented her from reaching the top.

“We’d better go. We’ve been gone too long,” and with that Twanda disappeared out the door and into the corridor.

Mae didn’t seem to hear her or notice she had gone. The singing began again. It filled her soul and engulfed the mortal body. When she closed her eyes, herworld vanished while her mind and soul soared to the ethereal realm of thegods.

As the voice continued, Mae opened her eyes and for an instant, she stared at her own reflection. But in doing so, she thought she’d seen the reflection of a mask behind her.

The soft sweet voice floated up through the vents and again filled the air with strains of a song that thrilled her to the very bone. Though she tried to resist, it compelled her to take hold of the gloved hand reaching out to her from the mirror. The scent of sandalwood waltzed all around her as the hand pulled her through the glass.

It's an interesting premise, and I'm curious to see where it goes. I don't usually read the modern-girl-goes-back-in-time stories, but since you say you're trying to dispell popular tropes about how Erik is written in fanfic, I have better hopes for this one.

A few notes:

I don't think someone speaking Persian, in Persia, would be described with a "light Persian accent." Unless you mean she's speaking in French or English, in which case, excuse me.

The practice of describing the physical attributes of each character as they're introduced always distracts me; I like those details to come out as the story's being told, rather than get a whole block of what everyone looks like all at once. It pulls me out into exposition.

Lastly, if it matters, the tours of the opera house include the auditorium. I'm not sure what you mean by "only during performances."

As to the good stuff, it sounds like this is going somewhere different, and I look forward to seeing what happens when a girl raised on the film encounters a more gruesome and less romantic Phantom. Thank you for sharing!

Mitra spoke English to the hooded figure. Perhaps I should have clarified that. My bad.

A thousand pardons if my character introduction annoyed you. If you wandered in like Mae and her group did, there was no tour. If a ballet went on in the auditorium, then there would be reason for a guide to give a tour in the lobby. Does that make sense?

Well, you will have to see how all is woven in to the story.

Just a forewarning, there are two storylines once Mae goes through the mirror, but there' s more to mirror than just tranporting her to Victorian France.

I wouldn't say "annoyed"--and I'm sorry if I sounded harsh. I read a lot of fanfic so I see a lot of things that start out similar--that's, of course, no indication of how they'll go. In terms of exposition, I just personally find it more efficient to weave that into the story more piecemeal. You do that some, but it's still several paragraphs where we have to take in a lot of physical attributes. But it's difficult, I grant you, to fit that stuff in easily.

You are being honest. I understand. I'd rather hear the truth than a lie. Not everyone gives reviews as I do. Most reviews tell the author what they liked or didn't like. My reviews rarely offer my likes or dislikes. Rather, I look for character and plot development, whether there's too much dialogure, if the beginning of each chapter or scene established; technical things important to publishers.

I truly appreciate your feedback. In the future I hope you will be entertained and not distracted.

Hello Fay, I always enjoy your phics and this one was no different. I liked the begining. Mysteriouse scene, with a sort of forshadow of what will happen. Your characters are interesting in the sense that their teenagers(right?)Anyway.... It's far to early for me to get way into detailed critisizum.

Devine_Muse thank you so much for the compliment. So happy you enjoyed. The next chapter is not as long, but let me forwarn, there are two storylines, so don't think this is the typical story picking up after the movie or the novel. It doesn't pick up after any. It's a stand alone and you will see what I mean. Stay tuned.

Nichol+Erik=Amor! my dear, you are such a busy lady, I don't know how you do what you do and stay sane. Your comments are always welcomed. I will be posting a chapter each week, since the book is finished. I'm just looking over chapters for errors, like I haven't proof read until my eyes went funny.

Finally, I'm here and registered. I skulked a bit a few times, just looking the site over. It's beautiful. My hats off to the designers.

Fay, I've only read the first chapter, but I love what you've done. Your word choice is smooth and unequivocal. I like the original feel of this story, even if it is spun from an old tale. Look forward to reading the rest.

silver moon, thank you for your kind words. Delighted you enjoyed the story so far. I'm about to give you two short chapters. Let me know what you think.

Chica de Nueva York so glad to see you and happy you made it. Thank you for the lovely comments. This may look like something which has been done before, it hasn't. The following two chappies will show you what I mean.

Then it happened, in a small electrical flash, when her fingertips touched the glass, Mae felt the tingle of a small current surge through her body, and a gloved hand pulled her through the looking glass. Everything seemed surreal, almost dream-like. What just happened?

A tall, very slim, majestic figure of a man dressed in black with a cloak draped around his shoulders, led her. The right side of his face lay hidden beneatha white mask. As they moved, he continued the song she’d heard in the corridor and in the dressing room. His voice not only mesmerized, but excited her to the point of stirring passion. Such passion made her face flush warm and her heart raced faster than any cardio exercise could ever evoke.

The majestic masked man led her deeper and deeper into the bowels of the cellars, and then to a boat, which took them across a vast, glassy lake.

As he rowed, the masked man continued to sing and for some reason, Mae joined him. Although she loved to sing but by no means well enough for the opera, she found her voice mingled with his as though they had rehearsed a fine tuned performance.

The song ended as the portcullis rolled up and candelabras emerged from the lake, fully lit.

Mae’s eyes widened with amazement and awe. She turned to the man whose voice had sent her into throes of sexual ecstasy. His eyes burned through the soul, but at the same time, held her captive.

Their gaze locked as he leapt from the boat and secured it, his eyes never left hers. Once again, he extended his hand and led her to him. She looked up into his face. His breathing grew ragged and his touch sent a shiver through her body, causing her groins to ache for him.

He dropped his cloak, as he pulled her close. She inhaled the sweet scent of his warm flesh mingled with a light odor of sandalwood as he leaned down to brush his lips against hers.

She tried to speak, but words never came. His soft, warm lips pressed against hers and they parted, allowing his tongue to plunge into the warm, wet depths of her mouth. Desire nearly overwhelmed them. He ached for her as much as she did for him. His body flushed with an inner heat, leaving a moist glistening on his skin.

Mae broke the kiss and pushed him away gently and gasped for air. Literally he had taken her breath away. He pulled her back and held her so tight she nearly fainted.

“Please, monsieur. I cannot breath.”

“My apologies, my sweet,” he hissed as he loosened his hold.

“Please, may I ask your name?” Mae tried to divert the moment to conversation, before passion consumed them. Deep attraction existed between them, but so did guilt. After all, she had only met him, and everything she had read described him as dangerous. He reigned as the Opera Ghost, the Phantom,didn’t he?

“You may call me Erik.”

“Erik. Is that Scandinavian or…” but before she could finish, he silenced her with another long, passionate kiss. This time, Erik broke away.

“I’ve never felt like this before. This moment was but a dream, until now,” his voice sounded soft and even now, hypnotic.

“Please, I am forgetting my manners. Permit me to show you my home,” he said, as he took her hand and led her from room to room.

When they came to an automata in her likeness, dressed in a wedding gown, Mae did not faint, as she remembered Christine had done in the musical film, instead, she turned to him and declared, “The gown is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!”

“Oh, no, the most beautiful thing ever seen is you, Mae,” Erik’s blazing eyes reflected nothing but love for her. She evoked not only passion, but an inner peace. A peace like he had never before known.

A little ways from them stood a full-length mirror which reflected their image. Mae now saw herself clothed in the dressing gown of a Victorian woman of the late 19th Century. Her hair no longer layered to her shoulders, appeared as luscious, brown curls cascading down her back.

“May I ask a favor, dear Erik?” she turned to the majestic masked man.

“Anything, my dear.”

“When you kiss me again, would you please remove your mask? It’s…in the way,” she looked down shyly, almost with regret in having made the request.

At this, Erik grew a bit angry and roughly pulled her to him. Leaning down with his face ever close to hers and made her look at him.

“Do you know what you ask? Have you any idea what’s under this mask?”

“I think I do. I…I meant no harm, Erik. Please…” Mae stammered.

“Once you’ve seen beneath the mask, you shall never be free. You will belong to me, forever!” his voice thundered without effort, and yet, it still mesmerized, almost erotic. “Knowing this, should I still remove the mask?”

She said nothing, but stared helplessly into those blazing, cat-like eyes. He leaned even closer, and growled, “You may remove the mask.”

Her hands trembled at these words. What had she done? Slowly, deliberately, she lifted both hands and gently removed it.

As she had thought, the mask hid the deformed side of his face. The discolored flesh looked like yellow parchment, stretched across a skeletal structure. His ear, not fully formed, seemed hardly an ear at all, but a hole without a lobe. The discolored flesh about the eye hung as though it had no place to goand the hair receded to the point of almost nothing. It appeared as though two different people existed within the same body at the same time; one hideous beyond description and one handsome beyond any imagination.

Mae stared up into his face, but neither flinched nor turned away. Instead, she threw her arms around his neck, and pulled his mouth to hers. Though surprised, he didn’t resist. Willingly, he took her tongue into his mouth, and in turned plunged his into hers. What a delightful sensation!

His hands roamed across her back, and down past her waist. The heat of his body increased and his blood truly boiled. Then…he caught himself, and stopped abruptly, and broke the kiss.

This time he became breathless. “I…apologize, my dear Mae. I…I acted most ungentlemanly. Please forgive me,” he pulled away and looked for his mask.

Mae found it on the floor. Upon picking it up, she handed it to him. He accepted it, and replaced it over his deformed face.

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she apologized as she looked for a chair to sit on. Quickly, the masked man grabbed a chair and sat it before her.

“Please, sit down. I am forgetting my manners,” he held the chair for her while she sat. Then he perched on the floor by her feet.

“Do I make you uncomfortable, dear Erik?” Mae asked, as she gently touched his back.

“You stir foreign feelings within me. I could literally lose myself to you,” hesaid as he looked away. He dared not look her in the eye, lest he lose himself to passion and take her where she sat.

“What of Christine?” she turned the subject.

“Christine? What about Christine?” his tone changed.

“You know I’m not Christine. You’ve called me by name.”

“Of course I know you’re not Christine,” he snapped. “How could I mistake you for Christine?”

“You know I am not from this century. I belong to another time...”

“You belong to me!” Erik roared as he leapt to his feet. Grabbing her by the shoulders he brought his face down to hers, “You are mine! I’ve warned you. Anyone woman who looks upon the face of the Angel in Hell shall never be free!”

Mae cowered, afraid to speak. She reeled with his sudden rage. After releasing her, he stormed out of the room and slammed the door so hard the room rattled.

“Guess I said the wrong thing. Way to go Mae!” she mumbled to herself.

Last edited by PhantomnessFay on Mon Jun 09, 2008 2:19 pm; edited 1 time in total

The beautiful Christine Daae accepted the gloved hand, which reached for her through the looking glass. A sharp sting of electricity pricked her fingertips when she touched the glass and in an instant an electrical charge surged through her entire body in a flash of white light.

As the light vanished, the dazed young woman found herself staring into the mirror, but her own reflection shocked her. She found herself alone. No one stood before her. In the mirror, she barely recognized herself, for the reflection showed her hair layered to her shoulders. Her long, cascading curls now gone, and instead of her dressing gown, she donned jeans and a T-shirt or men’s apparel, as she called them. At first she became terrified and spun around in a circle to survey her surroundings.

For all intents and purposes, it appeared to be her dressing room in the Paris Opera House, but still, something didn’t seem right.

“Hey, Mae, are you coming?” Tommy and Kimee appeared in the open doorway. Each froze at the sight of the other.

“You’re not Mae!” Kimee puzzled. “But you’re wearin’ her clothes. What did you do to our friend?”

At that moment, Twanda and Doone showed up, and they, too, became shocked by the stranger who wore their friend’s clothes.

“Yo! You’re wearin’ Mae’s clothes. What did you do to our friend?” Doone charged toward the confused girl.

“I…I didn’t do anything,” the frightened child backed away.

“Who are you? Where is Mae?” Twanda demanded.

“I…I’m Christine Daae. And I don’t know what happened to your friend.”

Tommy and Kimee circled her cautiously. Twanda stood her ground.

“You are wearin’ Mae’s clothes. Don’t you lie to me, girl. What did you do to my friend?” Twanda brought up her fist in a threat.

Kimee eyed her suspiciously. “Did you say your name was Christine Daae?”

“Chill, Twanda! Let’s hear her out.” Then he turned to the girl. “Okay. Explain. You’re wearing Mae’s clothes, and she ain’t here. Explain!” Tommy tried to be rational.

“He reached for me through the looking glass. The moment my fingertips touched the mirror, there was a flash of white light. My fingers stung and I here am. I swear, I did nothing to your friend,” the terrified girl began to sob, and the others took pity on her, except for Doone.

“Who reached for you?” he growled.

“The Angel of Music.”

Tommy held him back. “Chill dude! She’s tellin’ the truth,” Tommy tried to calm him down.

From the corridor, the voices of Mrs. Carlyle and Miss Peters called for the friends to join them. The four friends exchanged puzzled looks. They couldn’t let this Christine-person leave their sight until they found their friend. How would they get pass the teachers who chaperoned them? Could they really make them believe that Christine was Mae? They could try.

Kimee handed Christine her floppy hat. She hastily put it on and pulled it down to cover her face. Twanda made her put on the dark glasses. Then the five made an exit from the dressing room.

The four young people tried to keep Christine among them, so the chaperones would not see her clearly.

On the way out of the Opera House, Mrs. Carlyle scolded the five for venturing into “off limit” areas.

Carlyle, looked a bit pudgy for her average height and wore plain, drab colored clothes, for she claimed she looked too attractive when dressed up and had to beat the men off with a stick. A rumor to which no one could verify.

Miss Peters verbally backed up Carlyle in scolding the young friends. Peters, in her mid thirties always dressed to kill. She never had a hair out of place and she never dreamt of eating anything that would make her gain an ounce of fat.

Upon reaching a sidewalk café, the group found a couple of tables and Mrs. Carlyle hailed a waiter. Kimee and Twanda made sure that Christine sat between them, and had her scoot down in her chair to make her look shorter.

“What are you going to do with me?”

“Don’t know, yet. We’re trying to figure out how to find our friend and send you back where you belong,” Twanda said as she narrowed her eyes at the menu. “I really should have paid more attention in French class.”

Christine reached for the menu. “Maybe I can help.” Twanda handed her the menu.

“And I don’t want to go back,” Christine said calmly. Twanda and Kimee exchanged looks as Christine reviewed the menu.

Christine ignored the question, but flinched when a taxi passed, honking its horn, as the driver screamed out curses in French.

“Chill, girlfriend! It’s only a taxi,” Twanda pushed her back gently.

“Taxi?”

“A car.”

“Car?”

Twanda huffed, “A horseless carriage. What’s wrong with you, girl? Ain’t you never seen a car before? Oh, yeah, that’s right; they didn’t have them in your time.”

Christine tried to relax. She studied everyone and everything around her and tried to block out the questions of the two girls.

At last, Kimee and Twanda gave up the interrogation.

Kimee whispered, “What’re we going to do? She’s no help and who knows what horrible things are happening to Mae?”

“We’ve got to go back to that mirror in the dressing room…” but before Twanda could finish, Christine jumped up and made a run for it. The two girlfriends took off after her.

Doone and Tommy puzzled a moment. Then they realized what happened and bolted in direction of the girls, while the two chaperones screamed for them to stop and come back.

Christine made her way through the streets of Paris, shoving and pushingeveryone in her way. Breathing became difficult and her eyes darted from side to side, searching for a place to hide.

Christine lost herself in the sea of artists along the sidewalk just below Sacré Coeur, the white domed cathedral at Montmartre. The four friends stopped to get their bearings and to see if they could catch site of the frightened diva.

“Crap!” exclaimed Doone now at the end of his rope. “I’ll…I’ll...,” he gestured what he wanted to do to Christine.

“Chill dude! We’ll find her. It’s not like she can blend,” Tommy moved through the crowd of easels and artists.

“Wait ‘til I get my hands on her. Messin’ with our Mae’s life!” Twanda grittedher teeth and waived a fist in the air.

“Chill, you guys. If she hears you, we really won’t find her,” at that moment, Kimee caught a glimpse of her own hat, hiding behind a tree in a short distance. Quietly, she put a finger to her lips to hush the others, and motioned for them to follow her.

Silently, the four friends stole upon Christine, hiding behind a tree, still panting for breath. She jumped at the sight of them, but too late, they had surrounded her.